


That Awkward Moment When...

by lilithtorch2



Series: Grief and Loss [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: A date gone wrong, Awkwardness, Character Death Fix-It, Crossover, Episode: s03e09 The Crossing, Fix-It, Gen, Spoilers, s03e09 The Crossing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithtorch2/pseuds/lilithtorch2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*SPOILERS* One-shot fix-it doubling as a Person of Interest/Doctor Who crossover: What if Harold had actually picked up the phone but the Machine didn't give him a number in the November 19, 2013 episode "The Crossing?" How does the Doctor and the TARDIS fit into all this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Awkward Moment When...

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah…I remembered thinking, “Well, gee, you made Joss Carter die THIS close to the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who?! I’m trying to be happy for the 50th anniversary here!” Grieving + Tiredness = Fix-It.
> 
> I also assume that Joss Carter’s death was not a fixed point in time that needed to happen for time to continue on without disintegrating…

Harold Finch, secret I.T. billionaire extraordinaire and the creator of The Machine, breathed a sigh of relief. With everyone else’s help, they had saved the day and most importantly, saved John Reese, his right-hand man and partner-in-justice. Through their ragtag team of ex-spies and officers, they had worked with Joss Carter, now an NYPD detective again, to take down all of HR and Alonzo Quinn, the man behind it all.

Tonight, Harold was going to pick up John Reese from the precinct and return him to base. As he left his car, he walked over to Joss and John, who were talking excitedly, relieved that they had completed what they set out to do. John was not dead; he was saved. End of story. Officer Simmons was still missing, but they would find him later. Starting tomorrow.

But the payphone standing ominously nearby was ringing.

Harold paused, adjusting his eyeglasses. What would The Machine be calling him about? He debated whether he should continue to walk over to his colleagues or pick up the phone. As he stood there, the payphone insisted on ringing and refused to go silent.

“Fine,” Harold relented, listening to the Machine’s requests. He hobbled slowly toward the payphone and picked up the phone, waiting for the Machine to give him a number.

There was only silence on the other end. After a couple of seconds, the Machine gave a clicking sound to indicate that it had finished transmitting the message.

Except that there was no number.

Harold wondered why the Machine would call him only to be quiet, but hung up the phone and continued to walk over to Joss and John. He smiled and waved at them. As he walked, he heard some odd sounds. Something thrummed once, paused, thrummed again, and repeated. It continued to do so until something blue began to materialize. Harold blinked. It didn’t make sense. How could something just…appear out of nowhere like that?

The blue shifted and disappeared and shifted again before it finally assumed the shape of a blue police box. Harold hadn’t seen them since…oh, gosh, he couldn’t remember. And they were not of United States origins. Weren’t they usually found in England? He saw the blue box hovering in the air for a few minutes before it landed with a giant thud on the pavement.

Harold thought for a minute. This looked familiar. This sounded familiar. He sensed he knew why, even though he couldn’t recall why, and yelled at his colleagues, waving his hands, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Because John and Joss trusted Harold, they only held position and eyed the blue police box warily. The door opened, and a man and a woman emerged.

The man was a tall lanky brunette with an innocent grin. He looked curiously around him like a boy opening Christmas presents for the first time. Like Harold, he was dressed in a suit, but for the man it wasn’t just any suit. It was a light brown jacket with an obnoxious red bowtie and dark pants to complete the ensemble. Harold was sure that the man was human, but something warned him that there was more to this individual than he seemed. The man had a questioning look and turned to the woman, as if looking for an answer.

The woman standing next to him put her arms on her hips and pursed her lips thoughtfully. Her expression was one of pure amusement. She was significantly older than the man, but she carried herself like a feisty young girl. The curls of her hair bobbed as she laughed, but always, her eyes would periodically glance over at the man’s, to make sure that he was never hurt. She carefully examined their surroundings as well, and gave him a nudge, nodding toward Harold first.

Harold became uneasy as they stared at him, looking him over. He thought he saw a flash of recognition cross their faces as their eyes stared into his, but before he could ask why, the two had moved on to examine John and Joss, who still had their weapons drawn, ready to fire at any second.

The man remarked calmly, “That’s odd. My calculations should have been correct.”

“Helluva way to start a date,” the woman chided him, secretly enjoying a laugh at his expense.

“Excuse me,” the man called out to Harold, “do you know what date it is and where we are right now?”

Harold, surprised by this question, quietly muttered that it was November 19, 2013 in New York City.

The couple started discussing why they ended up right here, in New York City, on November 19, 2013 at night. The man complained, why couldn’t it have been day, at least? Day was so much better; it was bright. Then the woman reminded him that there were bad things (Harold thought he heard her say, ‘monsters’) in the day as well, and the man nodded absentmindedly. Their conversation returned to how they ended up back here on Earth in a different year and veered off again into a philosophical discussion of the complexities of time travel. The odd man re-reviewed his calculations; they were not wrong. They were never wrong. His eyes lit up as he remembered that ‘the TARDIS’ herself (here he pointed at the blue box) could have made the decision to take a minor detour. (Harold, upon hearing the man refer to a box as ‘her’ was eerily reminded of Miss Groves’s affections for The Machine. Clearly, this man was just like Miss Groves: they were both nuts.)

“Excuses, excuses!” the woman laughed, teasing her lover. She gave him a peck on the cheek to show that she wasn’t really mad at him.

The eccentric man protested to her, the way a child would insist on magic being real, that he knew he was right about ‘the TARDIS,’ and that she knew that he was right about it, too, but he still didn’t know why it took them there. The man looked around, scrunching his face together in confusion, and pointed at Harold, John, and Joss one at a time. They were all clearly doing just fine (“still alive, yes,” the woman agreed) and obviously did not need his help. He added that if he ever got a chance to actually speak to ‘the TARDIS’ again, he would give her a talking to about ruining their dates like this.

“Oh, don't worry, sweetie,” the woman told the man, “we still have time left for our date.”

The man smiled back at the woman and tenderly touched her face. He nodded to Harold, John and Joss and introduced himself as John Smith. The woman rolled her eyes and snidely remarked that this made herself ‘Jane Smith,’ a name she did not enjoy; she would rather be called something else altogether. The couple and Finch and his team had a long staredown with each other, trying to find the right words to continue the conversation. After an awkward pause, the man stammered, “Er, well, carry on then!” and waited for the entertained woman to enter the box first, before hastily closing the door behind him.

After a few minutes, the blue police box disappeared as quickly as it came, singing as it went. Harold’s logical mind did not believe for one minute that inanimate objects had feelings, but he could swear that the police box was fleeing from the scene.

“What the hell was that?” John asked Harold curiously, running toward him.

Harold did not reply. He tried to think of a childhood memory that he had not pulled out in a long time. That 'John Smith' he knew then could not possibly have been the same “John Smith” that appeared before him today.

But Joss motioned for John and Harold to examine the exact spot where the police box had disappeared. “You guys, come here!”

Lying on the pavement was the unconscious body of Officer Simmons, the only officer from HR who they had not been able to find. He had been crushed like the Wicked Witch of the East under the police box, but somehow he was still alive (and mortally wounded; the officer was barely breathing), and his gun was laying just a few feet away from him. Harold, John and Joss all stared at the officer in disbelief and looked at each other for an explanation they didn’t have. Finally, John broke the silence, shrugging.

 “Found him!”


End file.
